Scarred
by frigginapplepie
Summary: Sango finds that she is unable to sleep one night, and Miroku tries to comfort her. Oneshot fluff.


A/N: This story has been sitting around in a notebook since the beginning of summer vacation, so it's finally time to let the beast loose. This is humbly dedicated to Tonks, to who need to realize that Miroku is a key part to the series and should not be ignored as only a lecher. Also to Evans and Moony, who both know that my obsessions run deep and spread to the point where you, also, will become obsessed someday.

Disclaimer: I do not own thee. InuYasha was drawn all too well to have been one of my makings. Sorry, all, I know you're disappointed.

* * *

He sits there, the merciless night air whipping smoke into his face. He doesn't seem to mind, however, for he is too busy pondering his fate – what is to come of him in the upcoming years of his existence, knowing that they may be his last if something is not done, and soon.

He raises his right arm above his prone body, lying upon a small blanket, the light of the flames bouncing off of the prayer beads wound limply around his hand and wrist. The beads: they were the only thing, other then a thin piece of cloth, which continues to separate the curse from the world around him. How can he bear it? I know that I would fail to deal with such, and yet he goes on like it's nothing out of the ordinary.

He turns his arm several times, each showing a different angle, watching his hand all the while. The look on his travel weary face seems to reflect upon what I have been thinking: Why did it have to happen, and to his family? What went so wrong that things turned out that way?

With a deep breath, he let his arm fall lazily to the ground beside him, His gaze started to wander to all of the things around our campsite: to the trees and bushes surrounding the small clearing that we had earlier occupied; to the small fire that burned slowly towards the center of it all, ashes flying into the air, the flames sputtering as they licked at the half disintegrated logs; to the sleeping forms of Kagome and Shippo (the latter nestled close to the girl's body, both facing me) on his right; stretching his neck to see behind him, where the hanyou was keeping watch, his back resting against a tree just outside of the open area, the Tetsusaiga unsheathed and propped against his shoulder, still wide awake; to my right, where Kirara, my two-tailed cat demon of a pet, lay curled up in a ball, sound asleep; and finally to me, head upon my hand, blanket drawn to my waist, watching silently as the monk surveyed everything around us.

"Sango?" His vice sounded worn, a disturbance in the cool night air. It seemed strained, in a way, like he was protesting with his inner self as to whether or not he was going to continue speaking. He apparently decided to venture on. "Why are you not asleep yet? As I recall, it was InuYasha's turn to keep watch." The half-demon snorted softly from where he sat, but made no further notion as to hearing out conversation.

"More likely then not," I said, pushing myself into an upright position with one hand, "for the same reasons that you are, Sir Monk."

He raised himself from his back, brushing a stray hair from his face, and let out a brisk laugh. I gave him a puzzled look. What did I say that derived laughter from him? "There is no need for such formalities, my dear Sango," he said in reply to my questioning gaze. "Now, tell me." He shifted his weight to a more comfortable position on the hard ground and thin blanket, glaring at me softly from across the blaze that served as a barrier between us. "What worries you?"

I heaved a great sigh, sitting up straighter beneath my covers. "Ah," I started, "it's…it's nothing."

"Nothing?" A moment of intense quiet settled over the clearing. My mind wandered to Miroku's hand again, as it had been quite frequently over the past months during which I had gotten to know the houshi better. His grandfather, wasn't it, or perhaps it was his great-grandfather? Which was it that first received the hellhole? And what did he do to irritate Naraku so much?

If Naraku could put a curse on his whole family, then why couldn't he handle InuYasha that easily?

"No," I found myself saying before I could even register that I had opened my mouth. "That is, there is something." The Buddhist monk's head snapped up from its drooping position and instantly turned in my direction. Miroku waited in eager anticipation for me to continue. Somehow, though, I could not find the courage to continue speaking, not after I had started with such skepticism.

I lowered my head a bit, just enough to avert my eyes from the monk, and took a deep, refreshing breath. The soft crunching noise of leaves breaking beneath pressure made me look back up. Once I felt his hand on my shoulders, the truth struck me that Miroku was at my side, kneeling the dewy grass at my side.

"It's all right, Sango." His voice came to me in a nearly whispered tone. "If you do not wish to tell me, it is your decision. I had just hoped that…that you would have had enough faith in me as to confide your problems in me."

I looked up into his chocolate brown eyes. "Oh, Miroku…." My head fell softly onto his shoulder as he sat down cross-legged, spraying me with droplets of evening dew. He wrapped an arm around me shoulders, drawing me in towards him. In a way, I felt uncomfortable, but nonetheless consoled. I half expected, and, to my abject horror, half hoped he would try to make a move on me. It would give me a reason to slap him and move back into a more suitable place. I was surprised when all that he did was sigh softly and rest his head atop my own, rubbing his bare hand up and down my arm.

I screwed up my courage a notch. Enough, at least, to say, "Miroku-sama, it's you."

"Well, I should at least hope it's me," he said, a sly grin fixing upon his glowing countenance."

"No…." I said mournfully. "Well, yes, I'd hope so as well. But that's not exactly what I intended to say."

"Then what is it, Sango?"

"I am worried about you. Worried…for you."

My gaze again rested upon his right hand. He must have noticed, for he raised it with practiced casualty. He turned it so that the covered hole faced me, the flickers of fire and pale moonbeams causing the beads to look haunted. After a moment of close, studied examination of his fingernails, he lowered his hand. It took me a moment to notice that Miroku placed it on my leg, giving the kneecap a protective squeeze.

"It's this you are worried about," he started slowly, giving the cursed hand a tweak, "is it not? I nodded solemnly into his shoulder. The monk let out a heavy-hearted sigh. "Ah, Sango," he drawled, sleep no longer mingling with his words. "Are you worried by this wretched fate that is to befall me in the years to come?"

"Yes, Sir Monk. I am worried about you, you and that wretched hellhole."

"Sango," his voice sternly said, "I have told you that there is no need for any formal addresses. We are traveling companions, and, more than that, we are friends. Why should we bother to speak as though it were not thus, unless that is what you believe? And you need not fret over this hellhole. No…well…. I mean, there is nothing too much to worry about. Sure, this damn hole is slowly devouring me bit by bit, piece by ---"

"Er, Miroku?"

"--- agonizing piece, and can hurt worse than Buddha's wrath at times. And, yes, it has drastically shortened my ---"

"Hello? Miroku?"

"--- lifespan. And, of course, it also means that I have limited time to enjoy the pathetic existence that I have taken to calling my life, but ---"

"Miroku!" My voice was an octave higher than I had wanted it to be, but it got the job done and quieted the houshi from continuing his incessant ramblings. From his silent position at the base of the tree, InuYasha's ears twitched. Shippo rolled over in his sleep, his back now facing me. Kagome's head rolled to the side a bit, as though recoiling from something, perhaps knowing that I nearly lost control with Miroku. The monk stiffened.

"Miroku-sama," I started; I lifted my head and pulled my legs up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. "I understand. I am just as worried as you are. But we'll stop Naraku, and before your hellhole has a chance to ---"

"Sango?" a bleary voice moaned. "Are you still up?"

I turned around. Kagome had her head perched upon one hand, the other balled up into a fist and scrubbing the sleep from her eyes. As though she just noticed him, she added, "Oh, and you too, Miroku?"

"Is there something wrong, Lady Kagome?" Miroku asked, his voice calm and measured once again.

"No, not really," she said, sitting up, carefully moving Shippo aside as not to disturb him.

Although he did not turn to look, InuYasha said, "Lay back down, Kagome. You should be sleeping…as should these two." I felt my cheeks burn as Miroku ran his hand down my back before standing up.

"Well you should sleep as well, InuYasha," Miroku said. He took hold of his staff and walked towards the half-demon. "Go on and rest. I shall take a shift now."

The hanyou grunted and stood up, hands tucked in his voluminous sleeves. He moved to the tree closest to Kagome and sat down, tucking his head into his neck. In moments, his breathing was even and slow, coming and leaving in measured movements of his chest, rising and falling steadily. He had fallen asleep without dulling his senses, as was the way with his kind.

Kagome wrapped the little kitsune in her arms, who happily nestled closer to her and rolled his infant sized body over again. "Good night, Sango. Good night, Miroku."  
She too, dozed off in a matter of minutes.

As I had what seemed like ages ago, I looked at the sturdy figure of Miroku, back pressed firmly against the body of a slanted tree. He ran his bare hand up and down the shaft of his staff, once more casting his gaze towards the holy beads that withheld the hellhole. And as before, an overwhelming wave of emotion rolled over me.

Pity. Anger. A need to help him get revenge on the beast that cursed his being. Care. What may have been a protective, maternal instinct that I had felt for Kohaku those many long months ago, when he was still my brother, and not Naraku's hand puppet. But there was something else….

Love.

InuYasha calls him a lecher. Kagome calls him perverted. Shippo doesn't think highly of some of his actions. I, too, don't approve of many of the things he does. But now, I could see why he does half of the things he does.

With only a decade left of his life, he must see it as necessary that he ensures that his family's task, the one that he joined us in order to complete, will be completed should he fail. And whenever he gets shot down by the women he asks, I fell a pang of guilt, hurt.

Had he asked me….

Miroku is no pervert. He is no lecher. He is a pour soul being punished for the mistakes of his forefathers, and it has scarred him in a way that is unbearable, even to just think about.

And in a way, I, too, have been scarred.


End file.
